Six Wardens and a Blight
by The Lark
Summary: Cousland, Tabris, Mahariel, Brosca, Aeducan, and Surana set out to score with Alistair, kill all humans, find some respectable clothes, win the lottery, pay child support, and burn things, respectively.
1. Prologue

**Six Wardens and a Blight**

_Prologue_

Warden-Commander Duncan paced restlessly around the time-worn columns and courtyards of the Ostagar ruins. "Ferelden is in serious trouble. I've got to get recruiting," he muttered gravely. "We're going to need lots of brave and able Wardens to defeat this Blight. And for some reason, in the two decades since the order returned to Ferelden, I've only managed to dredge up two dozen."

Teyrn Loghain, the king's most trusted general, couldn't help overhearing as he passed by. "Seriously? Wow, you must really suck at this whole leadership thing."

"Well, at least _I _never got my butt kicked by a tree," Duncan retorted smugly.

The old man's cheeks flamed. "Just for that remark, I'm deserting the field and letting the darkspawn eat you," he muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing!" Loghain replied a little too innocently. "So, recruiting, is it? Who are you planning on getting?"

"I'm not sure. I was thinking of maybe a wrongfully deposed noble, or a condemned criminal, or a diseased recluse, or someone from some sort of oppressed minority."

Loghain quirked an eyebrow. "But…why? Wouldn't someone without all that legal and psychological baggage be a better choice? Someone normal and healthy?

"Yeah, but my way is a lot more dramatic."

"Suit yourself. Idiot," Loghain grumbled as he walked away.

"Now then," Duncan mused. "The only question is, which of the prospects should I recruit?

An elven messenger tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, ser. I couldn't help overhearing. You've got those two dozen other Wardens camped in the valley. Why don't you send some of them out to recruit the ones you can't visit personally? I mean, if your need for recruits is really that dire."

Duncan sighed wearily. "Oh, don't think I haven't thought of that. But the king won't let the other Wardens leave. He's keeping them all around to serve as technical consultants for that stupid screenplay he's writing about Grey Wardens fighting space robots in a post-apocalyptic warzone."

"Wow, that's rough," the elf replied sympathetically. "Well, I just came to let you know you have some visitors. Six angsty-looking kids are asking for you at the gate."

"Six angsty-looking-?" Duncan gasped. "It can't be!" Running across the old stone bridge, Duncan found a beautiful young noblewoman, a ragged elven man, a dwarven prince, an elven sorceress, a casteless bruiser, and a Dalish huntress all lined up in a row.

"Hi, Commander," the noblewoman greeted brightly. "We hear you're looking for recruits, and we've come to volunteer."

Duncan gasped in disbelief. "Elissa Cousland? You're alive? But I heard that your family's castle was sacked."

Elissa shrugged nonchalantly. "It was. I snuck out when I heard the screams, like any sane person would."

"But how? Surely the attackers barricaded all the secret passages and placed the front door under heavy guard?"

"I didn't use either of those. I climbed out the window. It wasn't that hard. I'm sure every teen in Ferelden has had to climb out their bedroom window at some point."

"A window? Duncan was taken aback. "Huh. That's actually a really good idea. I never would have thought of that." His eyes flitted to the Alienage elf in dirty rags. "What about you? Aren't you Darrian Tabris, from Denerim? I thought the guards arrested you for killing the arl's filthy bastard rapist son?"

Darrian, his clothes soaked with blood, grinned maniacally. "They tried. But I think it's already been established that I know how to kill humans. Slowly and painfully, if possible. Heck, I killed like fifty of them at the arl's palace, and that was when I was only level two!"

The Warden-Commander faltered. "How, though? You city elves aren't allowed to own weapons. If I'd been there, I could have lent you one, but…"

The elf rolled his eyes. "Duh, I'm a rogue. I simply pickpocketed a couple of daggers in the Market District before I went to the palace."

"Oh. Well…good, I guess," said Duncan uncertainly. "And you?" He turned to the dwarven thug with the branded face. "Faren Brosca? Weren't you sentenced to death for messing up a Proving match?"

"Yeah, so what? I busted out." Faren chuckled. "Ser Duncan, I'm a mafia enforcer. Do you really think that was the first jail cell I've had to break out of?"

"And no one came after you?" Duncan challenged.

"Well, no," Faren admitted. "But it was no big deal. I just walked away while they were busy making long-winded speeches about how much trouble I was in." He folded his muscular arms defiantly. "As far as I'm concerned, it's their own fault for standing there pontificating when they should have been clapping me in irons."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you," Duncan apologized.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Faren replied. "I really didn't need your help."

Duncan's eye twitched violently. "And you, Lord Aeducan? What are you doing here? You were exiled to the Deep Roads for kinslaying, last I heard."

Duran Aeducan raised his eyebrows quizzically. "Well, sure, but I _am_ a dwarven warrior prince. I was born and raised to kill darkspawn. And with Orzammar being so close to the surface, I made it out of the Deep Roads in like fifteen minutes."

The Warden-Commander was ready to explode. "But what about me?" he yelled furiously. "I'm supposed to be a freaking hero! Does no one here need my help?" He grabbed the elven mage by the shoulders, eyes alight with hope. "Miss Surana, you're an elf, a mage, and a woman! Surely someone as downtrodden as you could use my help?"

"No, sorry," Neria replied. "I've actually won the favor of the Circle and the Templars by helping Irving spy on Jowan. I'm set for life." She gave him a little shove. "And who are you calling downtrodden? I could set your beard on fire with my brain if I felt like it, buster!"

Duncan began to fume. "This is ridiculous! Between King Cailan's borderline mental retardation and Teyrn Loghain's shifty eyes, it's obvious that I'm not going to survive the upcoming battle. My only role in this freaking saga was to rescue the savior of Ferelden, and you damn kids have robbed me of it!"

"Uh, we're sorry?" Elissa ventured meekly.

"Shut up! I don't need your pity!" he thundered. Then, suddenly, he remembered the sixth candidate. The Dalish huntress, whose skin was marred with the telltale lesions of a Blight disease. "Lyna Mahariel!" He threw his arms around the girl, sighing with relief. "Thank the Maker! At least _you_ still need me, after your run-in with Eluvian."

Lyna hesitated. "Well, actually, Commander, I'm on a course of experimental medication that seems to be…"

Duncan glowered menacingly.

"Er, I mean, yes, certainly!" Lyna fibbed hastily. "Of course I still need your help, kind mentor."

The Warden-Commander beamed. "That's the spirit!" He swept all six into a group hug. "Now that we understand each other, we'd better get a move on. I want to introduce you to King Cailan."

The six recruits trailed their new commander uneasily. "Maker's Breath, I think the Taint's gone to his head," Neria whispered.

"Don't worry," Duran reassured her. "You heard the spoilers. Soon he'll be dead and we'll be running the show."

Faren sighed. "Thank the stone for Loghain's shifty eyes."


	2. A Royal Welcome

_Chapter One: A Royal Welcome_

Duncan led his recruits over to the bridge, where a blond warrior in gold armor stood, holding a gilded sword and shield.

"Ah! A golden saint!" Elissa yelped, drawing her sword. "Kill it! Its Daedric heart is worth two hundred drakes!"

"No, dear, this is King Cailan," Duncan explained.

"Heya." The king's eyes sparkled. "So, you're going to be Grey Wardens? That's so cool! I've always wanted to be a Grey Warden. Either that or a cowboy." The king pulled out a hobby horse and lariat, capering around gleefully. "Yee haw!"

"Um, Your Majesty?" Duncan coughed awkwardly. "I was thinking, maybe you shouldn't be risking yourself in this battle. Seeing as how the dynasty is already kind of fragile, and you don't have an heir yet, you really ought to be back at the palace where it's safe."

At this suggestion, all the merriment fled the king's face. "No! Please don't make me go home!" He lowered his voice nervously. "Anora's there."

"Oh." Duncan's face fell. "Well, in that case, I suppose the darkspawn will be less dangerous and far more pleasant."

Cailan was relieved. "Thanks for understanding. Now, then, why don't you introduce me to the recruits?"

"Okay." Duncan nudged Darrian forward. "This is Darrian Tabris."

Cailan smiled politely. "Nice to meet you, friend."

"Bite me, golden-boy!" the elf snarled.

Cailan just laughed merrily. "Aw, you're a lively one, aren't you? So, how's life in the Alienage? Short and unpleasant, I trust?"

"I killed an arl's son for raping my cousin!" Darrian blurted randomly. "And I'll kill you, too! I'll kill all of you! Slowly and painfully, if possible!"

"Such a kidder! I like that. Put her there, you son of a gun." The king held out his hand, but the elf just tried to bite it.

"Kill all humans!" Darrian raved, waving a bloody sword.

"What a nice young man," the king chirped obliviously, moving along to the next recruit. "Ah, I recognize you. Bryce Cousland's daughter, right? How's the family?"

"They're dead, you moron!" Elissa snapped disgustedly. "Honestly, how does even the most oblivious monarch manage not to hear that the most powerful family in his realm has been deposed and slaughtered to the last man, woman, and child?"

"Ouch. Tough break," Cailain sympathized.

"Arl Howe did it. I saw the whole thing. Arrest him!"

"Sorry," the king apologized. "I really wish I could, but I'm busy with my screenplay at the moment. I'll see what I can do when we get back to the capitol."

"Well, can you at least send out a warrant for his arrest?" Elissa persisted. "Or write a letter asking someone to look into it? The mastermind behind this assassination plot could strike again if it is left uninvestigated."

An evil laugh echoed from the vicinity of Loghain's tent, but Cailan pointedly ignored it. "Look, you seem like a nice girl, so I'll level with you. I may be king, but it's my wife who actually rules this country. If I try to make any actual commands or decisions, she'll beat me."

"Can't you get a restraining order?"

"Sorry, but it's too dangerous."

"Thanks for nothing, jerkwad," Elissa grumbled.

"You're very welcome, it was nice to meet you," the king replied cheerfully. He turned to the next recruit. "And you are?"

"Duran Aeducan, former prince of Orzammar," the dwarf replied proudly.

"Really? Why, I met your father, King Endrin, once. I hope someday I'll be as fair and wise a ruler as he."

Faren snickered. "You wanna be a gullible old idiot who feeds his only non-evil son to the darkspawn?"

"Cram it, duster!" Duran unceremoniously decked him in the face.

Duncan stepped in. "Break it up, you two! Your Majesty, one last thing before you go. I really think you ought to wait for Arl Eamon's troops before you go picking fights with poisonous orcs. After all, it's taken an alliance of nations to defeat every other Blight in history, and you don't even have your whole country with—"

"Ah, Duncan," Cailan chided. "You're overreacting. This isn't a Blight. I know, because I asked my Magic 8-Ball, and when I shook it up, it said 'Looks Doubtful.'"

Duncan was miffed. "You think I don't know a Blight when I see one, punk?"

"Don't challenge me!" Cailan commanded imperiously. "The Ball knows all. It said so on the commercial." He composed himself. "But I can't talk about that right now. I've got a screenplay to write. Farewell, Grey Wardens."

"Creators, what a tool," said Lyna.

Duncan winced. "Lyna, we're all thinking it, but try not to say the words out loud. Now, come along, everyone. It's time you started preparing for the Joining."

"What's that?" Neria wanted to know.

"A terrifying, inescapable, and probably lethal rite of passage."

"What, again?" The elven mage groaned. "I just had one of those last week. Can't you give me a pass on this one?"

"Sorry, Neria, but rules are rules. I've got two other recruits waiting for us in camp; you should go find them and introduce yourselves. You can't miss them. They're wearing the reddest shirts you ever saw. After that, go find Alistair, and he'll help you get ready for the ritual."

"Who's Alistair?" Faren asked.

"The guy you need to find."

"Yes, but who is he?"

"Alistair."

"Can you give us at least a vague description of this Alistair guy, so we don't have to wander around the camp for the next hour, initiating dialogues with every living soul we find?"

"…No. Bye!" With that, Duncan ran off to attend to more important business; standing stoically by the fire and looking impressive.

The six recruits trudged wearily into the camp. Near the quartermaster's supply stand, they saw a handsome young man in a blindingly red shirt flirting clumsily with a female soldier. "Hey, baby, you must be tired, 'cause you've been running through my mind all day!"

"Amateur," the woman scoffed.

"Ooh, you've got spunk." He sidled up close to her. "I lost my phone number, can I have yours?"

Lyna tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me? I couldn't help noticing how red your shirt is. Are you a Grey Warden recruit?"

"That's me." The lecherous recruit's eyes lit up. "Mm, you're so female. I find that quality attractive in a woman. Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven, baby?"

"Hey!" Elissa protested. "Why are you flirting with her and not me?"

"Wait your turn, hot stuff," he chided. "So, you must be the new recruits. I'm Daveth, a rascally rogue with a heart of gold."

"Hey, you can't be the rascally rogue with the heart of gold!" Faren protested. "I'm the rascally rogue with the heart of gold!"

"What?" Daveth was outraged. "You already have a rascally rogue? But that makes me totally redundant." He paled. "Holy Maker, I'm going to die, aren't I?"

"Sorry, salroka, but it's looking that way," Faren apologized.

Meanwhile, Darrian had gone to visit the quartermaster, hoping to replace some of his terrible starting equipment. The man looked him over disdainfully. "Is that one of my servants? I can't quite tell, you knife-ears all look alike to me. Didn't I ask you to go launder my Klansman's hood?"

Darrian's mouth began to froth. "How dare you speak to me that way?" He drew his sword, and his skin turned sort of green and lumpy. "KILL ALL HUMANS!"

"Ah!" the quartermaster yelped. "Sorry, ser, sorry!"

"You'd better be!" Darrian growled. "Now give me a helmet, some new daggers, and then go donate fifty sovereigns to the National Association for the Advancement of Elven People!"

Heading up a set of old stone steps, the Wardens found a second man in a flaming red shirt. "Hi," he greeted. "I'm Ser Jory, from Highever."

"A knight from Highever?" said Elissa. "Then why don't you recognize the rightful teyrna of Highever?"

Jory glanced awkwardly from Elissa's face to his feet. "I—uh, sorry, milady. It must be your new haircut."

"I haven't had a haircut!" Elissa snapped. "Now listen! As your rightful liege, I demand that you return to Highever immediately to investigate the mass murder of my family and retainers."

"Sorry, milady, but I can't. I'm going to be a Grey Warden, and it's going to be totally awesome!" He pulled out a hobby horse with griffon wings and capered around happily.

"Does no one in Ferelden care that there is a psychotic assassin on the loose, backed by his own private army?" Elissa exclaimed in disbelief.

But Jory wasn't listening. He was busy twirling a lariat. "Yee haw! I'm going to be the greatest hero in Fereldan history!"

"Well, good for you," said Neria uncertainly. "I'm Neria Surana, of the Circle of Magi."

Jory screamed like a girl. "A mage! AHHH!" He dropped his hobby griffon and ran like the Archdemon was chasing. "Save me, Duncan!"

Duran, who was getting bored, wandered to a nearby cage. There, an emaciated prisoner sat wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of bikini briefs. "Hey, what are you doing in there? Are you supposed to be some kind of stripper?"

"No!"

"Good, 'cause I don't think you've got the body for it. Why are you sitting in there in your underwear?"

The man looked a little sheepish. "Well, some of the guys swiped my underwear the other night and hoisted it up the flagpole. I snuck out to retrieve it, and when I stripped down to put it back on, I was arrested for public nudity before I could explain the situation. Now they're going to hang me as a criminal. But I can handle an undeserved execution. What really ticks me off is the fact that they haven't fed me. Could you score me some hardtack?"

"Gee, I don't know," said Duran. "Wouldn't it be better if I just straightened out this whole unjust execution thing?"

The prisoner waved off his concerns. "It's nice of you to be concerned, but really, that won't be necessary. Just the food and water, please."

"Are you _sure_?" Duran persisted. "Because I'm a dwarf noble, well-trained at diplomacy and manipulation, with a high Coercion score. I'm sure could totally clear up this little misunderstanding."

The starving prisoner's eyes hardened. "Mind your own business, hero!"

The six recruits pressed on, and were still searching in vain for the mysterious Alistair, when a kennel master called out to them. "Hey, you guys are Wardens, right? Can you give me a hand with this injured wonder-dog?"

"Wonder-dog?" Elissa repeated suspiciously.

"Yeah, a mabari war hound. He'll serve you with the loyalty of Lassie, the courage of Rin-Tin-Tin, and the cuddliness of Beethoven, if you'll help me treat his injuries.

Lady Cousland peered over the kennel fence. "Hey, that's _my_ dog, you creep! Give him back this instant! No wonder he's ill! You separated him from his imprinted master!"

The kennel master began to sweat nervously. "I don't know what you—"

"I'll prove it." She snapped her fingers. "Roll over, Dog."

Lyna frowned. "Your dog's name is Dog? You shemlen aren't much for imagination, are you?"

"Shut up!"

"Look," said the kennel master. "I'm sure we can—"

She whacked him over the head with the pommel of the Cousland family blade. "Give me back my puppy right now, you slimy fence!"

Six wardens and a warhound continued on to the far end of the encampment, where a large and ornate tent was standing. The recruits tried to go in and investigate, but a guard stood in their path. "This is the tent of Teyrn Loghain. _YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"_

"Aw, come on, please?" Duran wheedled.

"Well, okay, since you asked me so persuasively," the guard immediately relented, opening the door for them.

Ferelden's greatest warrior, in all his shifty-eyed glory, looked up at his visitors with a scowl. Or at least a slightly deeper scowl than usual. "Not again! I really need to fire that idiot guard."

"No argument here," said Duran.

"You must be the Grey Warden recruits," the teyrn realized. "What do you want with me? Make it quick, I'm busy planning my strategy for betraying…I mean, _defending _our idiot…I mean, _beloved_ king."

Faren gave the teyrn a funny look. "Does the word subtlety mean anything to you, ser?"

"No." He shooed them all back out the door. "Now move along, have a nice day, see you in Hell."

"Well," Faren observed. "It looks like we've just met our archnemesis."


	3. Attack of the Clones

_Chapter Two: Attack of the Clones_

At long last, there was only one person left in the camp that they hadn't talked to, so they figured he had to be Alistair. As they approached, they overheard one of the mages speaking to him rather heatedly. "Get out of my face, you geeky little Templar wannabe!"

"It was nice to meet you, too," Alistair chirped affably.

Darrian paused. "You know, I can't quite place it but his manner reminds me of someone I met recently."

Alistair turned to face them fully for the first time, and all six recruits gasped. "King Cailain?" Lyna asked, startled.

Alistair glanced nervously over his shoulder. "I don't know what you're talking about. My name is Alistair."

"But you look just like—"

"A young Brad Pitt?" Alistair supplied frantically. "Yes, I get that a lot. But that's not important right now."

"Don't change the subject," said Duran. "What's going on, here? Is this some kind of soap opera? Are you the king's evil twin or something?"

"Nonsense!" Alistair squeaked, his voice shrill with anxiety. "Cailan and I look nothing alike. I've got a different hairstyle and a marginally darker skin tone, see?"

"But—"

The junior Warden stubbornly clamped his hands over his ears. "Lalalalalala! I can't hear you!"

"Fine, keep your secrets for now, if you want. But we all know there's going to be a big reveal sooner or later," said Faren. "This _is, _after all, a Bioware production. Now let's get down to business. Duncan asked us to come and find you."

Alistair's face lit up. "Duncan sent you? Well, that's different, then. Isn't he the greatest?"

"Actually," said Neria, "we all found him kind of unnecessary."

"Hey, you can't talk like that about my BFF!" Alistair protested. "Duncan's a real hero. He risked a stern talking-to from the Fantasy!Pope for me. And someday when I'm all grown up, I'm going to have a cool Jedi attitude and manly ponytail just like his!"

"Jeez," Neria muttered. "Somebody's got a serious man-crush."

Alistair led the recruits back to Duncan's tent. They found Jory clinging fretfully to Duncan's man-skirt, and Daveth making out with a vaguely effeminate rock. "Ah, good," said Duncan. "You found Padawan Alistair."

"No thanks to you," grumbled Darrian.

Alistair shot the elf a dirty look. "Don't listen to him, Daddy-kins. He's just jealous because you've got better hair than he does."

Duncan looked tired. "Padawan Alistair, I've asked you time and again not to call me that."

"Don't say that." Alistair sniffled, wounded. "You're the closest thing I've ever had to a father."

The Warden-Commander rolled his eyes. "If I'd have known how clingy you were going to be, I'd have left you in the Chantry. Or in a locked safe at the bottom of the sea."

Alistair just laughed. "Aw, Daddy-kins, you're such a kidder." He threw his arms around Duncan's neck. "Let's go play catch!"

"Quit suffocating me!" Duncan snapped, shoving him away. "Maker, it's no wonder Maric and Eamon both put you up for adoption. Just take the kids and the redshirts out for some orc blood and get out of my face." He turned to the recruits. "Oh, and one more thing. While you're in the Wilds, I also need you to go rescue some ancient treaties, vital to the security of Ferelden and possibly the world. I would have retrieved them myself, but I didn't feel like it. Any questions?"

Lyna raised her hand. "What's the blood for?"

"You'll need it for your initiation."

"Blood? Why? Are the Grey Wardens some kind of vampire coven?" She eyed Duncan warily. "Bella Swan isn't a member, is she? Because I refuse to fight beside that crazy bimbo!"

"Maker's breath, no!" Duncan denied. "Just move out, I'll explain later."

Six recruits, two redshirts, and a Warden walked into a bar…er, into the Wilds, and began their search. Faren Brosca fell into step beside Ser Jory. "So tell me, aren't you nervous about fighting darkspawn? I mean, with that shirt of yours and all…"

"Oh, don't be silly," scoffed Jory. "I couldn't possibly die right now. I've got a beautiful young wife who loves me and a new little baby on the way." He pulled out his wallet. "See? Here's a picture of us in standing in front of our car. I just finished paying it off last week."

"Yikes. Well, I'd love to chat some more, but I'm getting the feeling I shouldn't get too attached to you." The casteless dwarf pointedly moved away.

Meanwhile, Daveth had finally given up on Lyna and gotten around to flirting with Elissa. "Hey baby," he purred, eyes lidded seductively. "You look cold, want to use me as a blanket?"

Elissa ignored him. "Sorry, bucko, but it's too little, too late."

"So, where to first?" Alistair asked.

"Why are you asking us?" Duran asked. "You're our superior, and you're the one who knows where the treaties are."

He shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm a follower, not a leader. I'd rather someone else took over."

"Well, then, let's go to the east," said Ser Jory.

"Someone whose name isn't Daveth or Jory."

"That's not fair!"

"Sorry, Ser Jory," said Alistair. "But the dwarf's right. I don't want to get too attached to you."

Jory pouted, but nobody was paying any attention to him. The other recruits were huddling around a dead body that was floating in the swamp. "Hey, look, he's got some kind of lockbox on him" Neria observed.

"All right!" Faren took out his lockpicks. "Now it's Faren's time to shine."

"Brosca, what are you thinking?" Neria chided. "We must keep this intact so that we can give it to his grieving widow, on the off chance that we run into her at some point in the future."

Faren joined Jory in pouting.

They pressed onward, nearly tripping over a wounded man. "Who is that? Grey Wardens?" he gasped.

"How did you know that?" Elissa demanded. "It's not like we have griffons tattooed on our foreheads."

"I'm glad you asked me that," he wheezed, "because there's a perfectly logical explanation for—

"I don't want to hear it!" Darrian interrupted. "Kill all humans!" he roared, breaking out a dagger and gutting the soldier like a fish.

Alistair scowled at the elf. "That was mean. But no sense crying over spilled milk. Let's get back to the quest."

The rest of the recruits gaped at the junior Warden incredulously. "But Alistair," said Duran gently, "he just murdered a helpless man. Shouldn't we do something about that?"

"I did," said Alistair. "I told him how mean he was and gave him my sternest frown. What more do you want?"

"_This_ is what you humans call a justice system?" Duran exclaimed. "First there was that idiot in his underwear about to be hanged back at the camp, and now this! You people will execute an innocent man over a misunderstanding, but let a brazen murderer off scot-free?" The dwarven prince grimaced. "Suddenly I feel right at home."

"Glad I could help," Alistair replied warmly. "Let's get a move on."

"But that man said his patrol was attacked by darkspawn!" Ser Jory protested. "Nobody said anything about fighting darkspawn!"

Alistair quirked an eyebrow. "Are you serious? What did you think the Grey Wardens were all about?"

The knight shrugged. "Well, based on Warden-Commander Duncan's example, I assumed that they just stood around looking tough and modeling cool armor."

Alistair glared. "I'm telling Daddykins you said that when we get back."

Before Jory could protest, a stumpy little creature with green skin lumbered into their path. "Aw, how precious!" Neria cooed, scooping it into her arms. "A little baby orc!"

"RAUGH!" the genlock snarled in protest.

"Aw, isn't that cute? He must have the sniffles." She bounced the little creature playfully. "You want a cookie, sweetie?"

The genlock immediately stopped slavering and took a nibble of the proffered chocolate chip cookie.

"Surana! That's a darkspawn! Put it down this instant!" Alistair ordered.

"Wait a minute. _These_ are the darkspawn everyone's so afraid of? Chubby little bald guys no bigger than E.T.?" The elven sorceress broke into peals of laughter. "Why, they're not half as ugly as Knight-Commander Greagoir, and not a tenth as frightening!"

"Neria, put it down!"

"Oh, fine. Spoilsport." She sat the genlock on its feet, patted it sadly on the head, and followed her comrades deeper into the Wilds.

And so the recruits ground their way through the mysterious forest, collecting plot coupons, searching for hidden treasure, and summoning demons just for the sport of it, until they reached the ancient ruins.

As the Wardens filed in, a scantily-clad witch descended on them, accompanied by a burst of ominous music. "Are you a vulture, I wonder?" she drawled. "A scaveng—AAAAH!" An arrow suddenly zoomed through the air and thumped into her bare chest.

Lyna lowered her bow, pumping a fist triumphantly. "Heh heh! Nailed her!"

"Gah!" the witch howled, clutching her wound. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Oh, come off it," the huntress snapped. "We all heard the ominous music. You're obviously up to something."

"Am not!"

"Really?" Lyna bit her lip guiltily. "You mean you're not planning to lie to us, manipulate us, sleep with our boyfriends, or anything like that?"

"Er…no. Of course not."

"In that case, I apologize, but this is still partly your fault. If you weren't strutting around as naked as a Desire Demon, you might have had some protection from that arrow." She indicated the skimpy ribbon of cloth draped over the witch's shoulders. "In what universe is _that_ considered practical combat attire?"

At the mention of a woman in skimpy clothing, everyone looked to Daveth, waiting for him to rattle off some cheesy pickup line. But the rogue just backed away nervously. "Sorry, but I'm not getting anywhere near that chick. We all heard the ominous music when she walked in, and with this shirt of mine, I can't afford that kind of risk."

Morrigan irritably yanked the arrow out of her chest and chugged a health potion. "Yeah, yeah. Let's just get to my mom's place and grab your treaties. That quest marker isn't going to move itself."

The other recruits started to follow her, but Daveth hung back. "No!" he whimpered. "We can't go with the scary lady, or she'll turn us into toads. And it's not like we have the benefit of weapons, combat training, or superior numbers that we could use to defend ourselves."

"Oh, don't be such a wuss," Elissa snapped. "I think you've been around Ser Jory for too long."

As the Wardens approached her hut, Morrigan's elderly mother looked startled. "Maric?" she asked Alistair. "Is that you? What are you doing back here?"

Alistair paled. "M-m-maric? Who's that? Never heard of him."

"You know, King Maric the Savior," said Flemeth. "You look just like him. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were his clone or something," the old witch mused.

Alistair snatched off his helmet, pointing vehemently at his head. "Are you all blind? Look! _Different hairstyle! _Totally different!"

"Whatever. Here, take your treaties, enjoy your Blight, see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Elissa repeated.

"Whoops, I've said too much." With that, Flemeth disappeared in a burst of flame, lightning, and tortured screams.

"Wow, Morrigan," said Faren. "Your mom's almost as creepy as mine."

Back in the king's camp, Duncan was still standing in the exact same spot by the exact same fire, looking as stoic as ever. "Ah, good, you're back. Now we can start our top secret, ultra-classified initiation ritual. We'll need lots of privacy, so let's do it in that ruined temple without any walls."

"In full view of the entire army?" Darrian asked quizzically.

"Oh, don't worry about them," said Duncan dismissively, leading them to the temple. "Have you forgotten the teyrn's shifty eyes so soon? None of them will live long enough to rat us out. Now, then, time for the juicy secrets."

Elissa looked worried. "Uh oh. That doesn't sound promising. Are you about to tell us we're Bhaalspawn?"

"No."

"Amnesiac Sith lords?"

"No!" He took the joining chalice off the altar and handed it to Daveth. "You're going to have to drink darkspawn blood."

Daveth hesitated. "But won't this kill me?"

"Probably," said Duncan. "Bottoms up, now!"

Daveth took a sip, choked on it, and crumpled to the ground at his fellow recruits' feet. With his dying breath, he took one last peek up Surana's skirt.

"Sorry kid," Duncan apologized, prying the chalice from the rogue's cold, dead fingers. "But it's your own fault for wearing a red shirt to a secret initiation rite. Oh well. Who's next?"

He offered the chalice to Ser Jory, but the knight just screamed like a girl. "Are you crazy? I'm not drinking that stuff! I've got a wife, a family, and a new car!"

"Well," said Duncan, drawing a dagger. "If you're determined not to go through with it, I guess there's no point in trying to calm you down or reason with you. Sayonara, sucker!" He shoved the dagger between the knight's ribs, then offered the chalice to the other recruits. "Come on, kids, die of the dagger or die of the drink, it's all the same to me."

"Screw you!" said Lyna. "I'm taking a third option." She pulled a handful of berries out of her pocket. "Come on, friends, let's eat these poisonous nightlock berries and die on our own terms!"

"Lyna," Duncan laughed. "Those are huckleberries."

"Oh well, it was worth a shot." Lyna sighed. "Gimme that chalice and let's get this over with.


	4. In the Dark of the Night

_Chapter Three: In the Dark of the Night_

Sucking down monster blood, lyrium, and a touch of zesty lemon, the recruits slipped into a coma, where an archdemon was waiting for them.

"SCREEEEEE!" the terrible creature roared

"What's wrong, boss?" asked one of its darkspawn subjects.

"Ah, nothing, I just stubbed my toe."

"Ouch. Want me to get you a cold compress?"

"Never mind that," said the tainted dragon. "There's some Grey Wardens telepathically spying on me again. Get yourself to Ostagar and tell those peeping Toms to leave me alone!"

The recruits drifted awake at long last. Duncan absently glanced up from the magazine he was reading. "Oh, look at that. You're not dead. Good for you."

"How was it?" Alistair asked. "Did you see the archdemon? Did it threaten you with a restraining order like it did with me?"

"A restraining order against Alistair?" Duncan's eyes took on a longing look. "Hm, there's a thought…"

Alistair scooped his reluctant mentor into a python-like embrace. "Oh, Daddykins, you crack me up!" He turned back to the recruits. "But on a more serious note, I've got something for you. These are magic fraternity pins to help you remember your hazing. All us Grey Wardens wear them."

"Then where's yours?" Elissa asked.

"I, uh, hawked it for some cheese," the former Templar replied sheepishly.

"That reminds me," Duncan interrupted. "Alistair, I finally managed to get you on the waiting list for that addiction clinic back in Denerim."

"All right! I won't let you down, Daddykins. I'll be cheese-free before you know it!"

"Good. For now, though, the recruits and I have to go see the king. He's having a very important meeting, and he wants them all to be there."

"Why?" Neria wondered.

Duncan shrugged. "He said something about getting your autograph."

"Aren't we going to give our fallen comrades a proper burial?" Duran indicated the corpses of the two unlucky red-garbed recruits, still sprawled on the floor in a puddle of blood.

"Meh, what's the point?" said Duncan. "This place will be choked with bloody corpses if—or rather, _when_ we lose this battle. In fact, you may as well strip their bodies naked before we ditch them. You might be able to get a few silvers for the armor."

"This is crazy. Am I the only one around here with any respect for human life?" Duran demanded.

"Yes," said Darrian succinctly, slipping on Daveth's studded leather.

At the other side of the ruined temple, King Cailan and Teyrn Loghain were talking strategy. "For the umpteenth time, you idiot, this is going to be a large-scale melee battle!" Loghain snapped. "Going to the front line would be suicide even against a human army. Against a horde of monsters who can poison and disease you merely by touching you, it's past crazy, it's freaking hilarious."

"Prince Aeducan did it!" Cailan defended.

"Will you stop arguing with me and get your gilded butt back to the palace?"

"No!" King Cailan whimpered pitifully. "Please, anything but that. My horrible wife is there."

"Hey, that's my daughter you're talking about!"

"Oh yeah." The king paused thoughtfully. "That actually explains a lot."

"Shut up!"

"Look, you don't need to worry, Loghain. There won't be any danger if we just wait for the Orlesians."

Loghain didn't answer, he just snarled venomously.

"Is, uh, everything all right, Your Majesty?" Elissa ventured.

"Oh sure." The king chuckled. "Teyrn Loghain just does that whenever anyone says the word 'Orlesians.'"

"RAAAAAUGH!" snarled the teyrn again.

"What's he got against Orlesians?"

"RAAAAAUGH!"

Faren was laughing hysterically. "Hey Loghain? Orlesians! Orlesians! Orlesians!"

"RAAAAUGH! RAAAAUGH! RAAAAUGH!" the teyrn roared uncontrollably.

"Awesome!" giggled the dwarf.

The teyrn glared, and all around him, flowers began to wilt and storm clouds began to gather. "It's not funny, damn it! Those dirty Frenchies killed my father, raped my mother, and worse yet, stole my puppy!"

"Wow, this guy's got a really angsty past," Lyna observed. "Maybe he'd make a good Grey Warden."

"RAAAAUGH!" snarled Alistair as he passed by.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Padawan," Duncan admonished. "Now, Loghain, why not listen to the king and wait for the Orl—uh, for those Francophone guys who shall remain nameless? I mean, this appears to be the first halfway intelligent idea he's ever had. Shouldn't we try to encourage that?"

"No!"

"But—"

"Not listening!" Loghain stubbornly shoved his fingers in his ears. "Kill all Orlesians! Slowly and painfully, if possible!"

Darrian grinned. "Hey, I think I'm starting to like this guy."

"All right, all right!" the king snapped. "We'll do it your way, Loghain. Just don't start with the sob stories about your dead puppy again."

The teyrn smirked triumphantly. "Then we'll need a patsy—uh, I mean, hero—to light the beacon at the Tower of Ishal."

"Okay, then, I'll just pick someone completely and totally at random," said the king. "How about Padawan Alistair?"

"You mean that guy who looks exactly like you?" Elissa asked.

"_DIFFERENT HAIRSTYLE!"_ Alistair's voice echoed over the wall.

"Is he some kind of relative of yours? Are you trying to keep your only heir safe in case the worst should befall you?" The young noblewoman's jaw dropped. "Holy Maker, did you just make _two_ intelligent decisions in the same day?"

"What? No." The king blinked in surprise. "It's because I want Alistair as far away as possible when we start the victory party, or he'll finish off all the cheese platters before I get a taste."

"Well, then," said Duncan, "I guess we're all set for the battle, then."

"Yeah, right. Suckers." Teyrn Loghain cackled with cold satisfaction. "Heh heh heh…_Mwhahahahahah!"_

"Ho boy," Lyna muttered. "We really are doomed, aren't we?"

Alistair was furious when he heard the news. "What? You want to spare me the experience of marching to almost certain death against a horde of flesh-eating monsters? This is an outrage!"

Elissa tried to soothe him. "Don't worry, Alistair. There's sure to be plenty of monsters at the tower for us to fight. I mean, there always are, right?"

"The king gave you an important job, Alistair," said Duncan.

"Yeah, right. He's probably just trying to keep me away from his cheese platter," the Templar sulked. "If that jerk ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm not doing it."

Alistair's new comrades eyed him with concern. "I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled, not meeting their eyes.

"Just get to the tower and try not to die," Duncan ordered. "You're on your own now. It was nice knowing you."

"Duncan, are you trying to tell us something?" Alistair asked obliviously.

"Alistair, you idiot, that does it! After I kick the bucket, _they're_ in charge." The Warden-Commander indicated his new recruits.

"Roger, boss," said Elissa. "Sorry again for surviving without your help."

"May the Force be with you, Daddykins," Alistair added.

"Ugh," grumbled Duncan as he stalked off. "At least in death, I'll finally be free of that creepy kid."

The royal clone laughed. "Ah, Daddykins, a joker to the last."

In the valley below, King Cailan galloped to the front line on his hobby horse. "Yee haw! I'm gonna stab me a dragon!"

"Your Majesty," said Duncan longsufferingly, "do we really have to conduct this battle in the dark of the night, with a thunderstorm raging?"

"Yeah, I know it's not ideal fighting weather, but I couldn't afford enough dry ice and wind machines to create a thick layer of fog over the field. And I want this battle to look nice and epic for when they make a movie of this. Which they totally will." The king framed the scene before him with an imaginary camera. "They'll probably call it 'King Cool Pwns Again.' Ooh, I hope they can get Arnold Schwarzenegger to play me!"

Duncan sighed. "Maybe it's not too late for me to cut and run like Loghain."

Cailan gave the Warden-Commander a reassuring slap on the back. "Ah, don't worry, Duncan. The darkspawn may have the advantages of numbers, magical powers, and a gigantic, millennia-old dragon on their side, but we're the good guys. Epic last-ditch fights like this one never fail. Plus," he added with a secretive smile, "I have a secret weapon. My awesome daddy's equally awesome sword; a blade of legend forged especially to destroy darkspawn."

"So where is it?" Duncan asked skeptically.

The king froze in his tracks, eyes falling to the empty scabbard on his belt. "Uh oh." He searched his pockets lamely. "I, uh, must've left it in the royal arms chest."

"Well, it's not doing us any good there, you moron!"

The argument was interrupted by a barrage of sinister, unintelligible whispers. The king glared at his men. "For the last time, I order you to stop whispering about me behind my back! Just because a guy forgets to bring a sword into battle, that shouldn't affect his reputation as a warrior."

"No, sire, it's just the darkspawn," Duncan corrected mildly.

Right on cue, a gargantuan horde of giant horned ogres, fearsome fanged hurlocks, mysterious shadow-swathed shrieks, and adorably chubby little genlocks came pouring out of the Wilds.

King Cailan composed himself. "All right, then. Seeing as how the war hounds lack any type of armor or defensive techniques, let's use them as our first line of defense." He waved the legion of mabari forward. "Eat Lassie, punks!"

To nobody's surprise, five seconds later, the battlefield was littered with dead puppies. "Ouch." King Cailan winced. "That's not terribly encouraging. Oh well." Lacking his own sword, the king swiped an underling's blade and hoisted it epically into the air. "FOR ENGLAND! Uh, I mean FERELDEN!"


	5. Hurlocks and Hoarders

_Chapter Four: Hurlocks and Hoarders_

"Let's cross the bridge, and get to the Tower of Ishal!" Alistair hollered over the din of battle.

"Screw you!" Darrian snapped. "Duncan left _us_ in charge, remember?"

"Okay, what do you want to do?"

The elf hemmed and hawed for a minute, his face flushing scarlet. "…Fine, we'll go to the damned tower. Stupid clone."

"Hey, you can't talk that way about Alistair!" Elissa protested. "He's a brilliant strategist and…and his rakishly tousled flaxen hair makes my heart flutter like a hummingbird caught in a Large Claw Trap," she sighed dreamily.

Alistair, Darrian, and everyone else within earshot stared at her. "Er, did I say that out loud?"

"Really, Cousland, this is neither the time nor the place," Lyna admonished. "If you're going to try and score with someone, you should do it in the middle of a crowded camp, with all your friends and a couple of strange dwarves looking on."

"Sorry, you're right."

The Wardens charged across the bridge, ducking fireballs. Near the end of the bridge, one came crashing down on their heads, instantly killing a squad of archers and singeing the Wardens' hair ever so slightly. "Ah, come on, get up you big babies!" Neria jeered, nudging the char-broiled corpses. "You're not afraid of a little fire bomb, are you? Amateurs."

After sharing a good laugh, the Wardens continued on to the tower, where they were met bya tower guard and a mage. Both were dressed in the same flaming red shirts as Jory and Daveth. "Help us, Wardens, the tower has been taken!"

"Taken how?" Alistair demanded.

"I-I-I have no idea," the guard stammered nervously.

"Yeah, how should we know?" said the mage defensively. "We certainly weren't using my flame spells to roast marshmallows instead of watching for darkspawn."

Duran was appalled. "So, what, you didn't try to fight them off with all your fancy magic? Just ran off with your tails between your legs, like some kind of shifty-eyed teyrn?"

"Cut me some slack, I used up all my mana, er, not roasting marshmallows."

Faren took out a little blue flask. "Here, take this lyrium potion I totally didn't steal from the mages' encampment." The dwarf's fellow wardens frowned disapprovingly. "What? I said _didn't_."

The motley band charged toward the tower, stabbing and burning darkspawn as they went, and heroically preserving the lives of the surviving tower guards. "Victorious once again!" Faren gloated. "Shows what you know, Mom!"

"Come on, men!" Duran ordered the survivors. "Let's regroup and take back this tower."

"You're not the boss of us," replied one of Loghain's soldiers. "We're staying right here."

"Yeah, this is more than we signed on for. That shifty-eyed jerk promised me a desk job!"

"He promised _me_ a cool uniform." A third soldier plucked disdainfully at his ugly chainmail. "How am I supposed to pick up chicks in this?"

Neria was incensed. "You mean after all the trouble I went to not to set you guys on fire during the fight, you're just going to stand there doing nothing?"

"Yup."

"Damn humans," growled Darrian. "Can I at least kill _them_?" he asked Alistair hopefully.

"No time," Alistair apologized. "We've got to go light the beacon and save my long-lost doppleganger, before it's too late."

They cut a bloody swath through the tower, while Faren trailed behind, idly rifling through locked chests and dead bodies. "Brosca!" Alistair screamed. "What part of 'before it's too late' did you not understand?"

"Eh, that ogre ain't going anywhere," said the casteless thug dismissively, reaching into a dead hurlock's pocket. "Hey, cool, a lottery ticket!"

At the top of the tower, sure enough, the Wardens found an enormous ogre. He was checking his watch impatiently and wearing the legendary shield Havard's Aegis as an earring. "RAAAAAH!" he roared deafeningly in their faces, spittle flying everywhere.

Lyna pulled out her Dalish Towel (Reinforced) and wiped her tattooed face dry. "Say it, don't spray it, vile fiend!" Seemingly out of nowhere, she drew a dainty little butcher's knife. "I'll teach you some manners!" She flung the knife at the ogre's head. The small blade barely glanced the hulking monster's skin, but nevertheless, it immediately dropped dead.

"Woah!"

"Cool!"

"I want a knife like that!" Lyna's comrades exclaimed jealously.

"Did we win?" asked a pile of copper coins, old weapons, and crafting components with Faren's legs sticking out from under it.

"Brosca, put that stuff down," Alistair nagged. "We've got to light the beacon!"

"So light it, already. You've got two hands, same as we do." The dwarf reached into the pile and handed Alistair a Zippo lighter he'd found on a chain-smoking genlock emissary.

In the distance, a pair of shifty eyes watched the beacon flicker to life. "Sound the retreat, you stupid sheep," Teyrn Loghain commanded. "Bwah hah hah!"

"But what about the king?" stammered his loyal second, Ser Cauthrien.

"Yes, what _about_ me?" said Loghain pointedly.

"I choose not to understand the meaning of this," said Cauthrien decisively. "Let's move out, men."

"What, seriously?" The troops looked doubtful.

"Desk jobs and cool uniforms for every man who shuts up and does what I say!" Loghain proclaimed.

"All hail the Hero of River Dane!" cheered the troops, running toward Denerim as fast as their legs would carry them.

Back at the top of the tower, the Wardens were being overwhelmed by darkspawn archers. "Ahhh!" Duran screamed, clutching his skewered shoulder. "My missile resistant armor is useless against these attacks! That jerk on Ebay lied!"

"Lyna, quick!" cried Elissa. "Use that all-powerful knife of yours!"

But the Dalish elf was still crouched over the dead ogre, making fancy stabbing motions. "I can't! I'm still stuck in slow-motion!"

"AAAAAAAHH!"

Below them, on the field of battle, King Cailan was being crushed to death in the grip of another profusely drooling ogre. "This is going to make a really crappy ending to my screenplay," he wheezed with his last breath.

Duncan cradled the lifeless body in his arms. "NOOOO! My old friend's long-lost son's estranged half-brother! You'll pay for that, monster!" For possibly the first time that decade, Duncan unsheathed his awesome blades. He climbed the ogre's body like an Aggro Crag, then sank his sword triumphantly into its heart. "Take that, jerk!" Then the reality of his situation sank in. "Uh oh. How am I going to get down from here?"

The giant darkspawn tottered precariously. "Fall backward! Backward!" Duncan shrieked frantically. But it was too late. The ogre fell on its face, crushing Duncan beneath it.

The Warden-Commander dragged his broken body from underneath the ogre. "All right, it's still not over," he gasped. "I'll just drink a healing potion and be back in the fight, good as new." He dug into his pocket for a Potent Health Poultice, but found nothing. "Aw, damn it, Brosca!"

In the Tower of Ishal, a certain dwarven pickpocket pulled several arrows from his chest, reached into his loot pile, and came up with a Potent Health Poultice. "Heh heh heh. No near-death experience for me!" he crowed, chugging the potion, scooping up his loot, and bolting for the stairs. "So long, suckers!"


	6. L'Etat, C'est Moi

_Chapter Five: L'Etat, C'est Moi_

The Wardens awoke to find themselves lying side by side in a big straw bed. Lyna blinked dazedly. "Morrigan? Is that you?" The elf groaned. "I'm getting really sick of being pushed to the brink of death and then miraculously rescued by dubiously motivated humans."

"Where are we?" Elissa demanded. "And where's my dog?"

"My mom turned into a giant bird, snatched you all off the tower, and carried you home," Morrigan explained.

"But why?"

"Well, we're going to need the guys as sperm donors for my magical hellspawn baby, but I'm not sure why she even bothered with you. As for the dog, I've been kind of lonely lately, and I was hoping maybe he'd be my friend if I tied a Mabari Crunch around my neck."

"Wow, that's really sad," Cousland observed.

"Is not!" Morrigan snapped defensively. "I'll have you know I'm perfectly happy here, with my single tattered dress, my bone-adorned hovel, and a mother who uses me as Templar bait."

"Let's not forget the fact that you don't appear to have a bed."

"Actually, the one you're lying in is mine. Mom sleeps hanging upside-down from the rafters."

"And, uh, you don't see anything unusual about that?"

The witch glared. "How dare you? My mother is a model parent! Always raping innocent tribesmen and smashing my prized possessions to kindling, and…and…I'm really not helping my case, am I?"

"Ah, leave the witch alone," Duran defended. "Her family's not half as twisted as mine. At least her mom's never tried to have her killed." An evil laugh resounded somewhere in the distance.

"Thanks, Aeducan," said Morrigan, "it's nice to meet someone who understands these things."

"Ditto." The dwarven prince eyed her scantily-clad form with new appreciation. "Say, Viconia?"

"Morrigan."

"Whatever. You don't happen to go for short guys, do you?"

She mulled it over. "Maybe. Buy me a gold necklace or two and then ask me again."

Duran sighed dreamily. "Just like all my casteless girlfriends back home."

"Um, right," Elissa coughed uncomfortably. "Listen, Morrigan, was there another Warden with us? I think we're missing someone."

"You mean the royal clone? Yeah, he's outside."

"No, I meant Brosca."

Right on cue, Faren burst through the front door, toting a wheelbarrow full of darkspawn crossbows, tattered pantaloons, and lotto tickets. "Hey, everybody," he chirped. "Good news, I've looted some darkspawn trail mix for our dinner. I think there's some human flesh in it, but we can pick it out."

"Why would we want to do that?" asked Darrian, cheerfully munching down a king-sized bag.

Alistair appeared in the doorway, tapping his feet impatiently. "Can we get this show on the road? I've been out here making polite small talk with the crazy lady over an hour."

The Wardens lumbered out of the creepy hovel. "See?" bragged Flemeth. "I've taken good care of your fellow Wardens. I even risked my life to save their stupid dog."

"But why?"

"Would you believe I'm genuinely concerned about the Blight?"

"No," all seven Wardens replied in unison. Dog shook his head furiously.

Flemeth thought a moment. "Then would you believe I'm Chaotic Neutral?"

"No."

"Well, tough, because that's all the explanation you're getting for now. So," she continued conversationally, "how were you planning on defeating this Blight and ending the civil war?"

"Wait a minute, who says we're planning on doing any of that?" Darrian asked.

"Yeah," Neria agreed. "We're just a bunch of oppressed and traumatized twenty-somethings. We should be popping antidepressants, going to keggers, and writing poetry about why we hate The Man, not overturning governments and leading militaries."

"But Loghain will destroy Ferelden!" Alistair protested.

"Good," said Darrian, popping a gory crumb of darkspawn trail mix into his mouth.

"But…but our homeland…"

"My people hate Ferelden. It's not my homeland," Lyna pointed out.

"Mine either," said Duran.

"Mine either," said Faren. "Let's blow this dump and get ourselves to Kirkwall with the rest of the refugees. I hear the Carta branch there is hiring."

"No!" Alistair whined. "We've got to go visit every major faction in Ferelden, solve all their problems, convince them to ally with us, then go see Arl Eamon and solve all his problems, get him to summon the Landsmeet on our behalf, then convince everyone we're not regicides, turn Ferelden against its most beloved living hero, put Arl Eamon on the throne, and then slay an ancient god with the body of a giant dragon."

Neria stared. "But no pressure or anything, right?"

"Why would Arl Eamon listen to us anyway?" Faren demanded, not looking up from the looted Powerball tickets he was scratching.

"Oh, Eamon's cool. He's my foster father."

"We can trust him, then?" asked Duran. "He's an honest man, always keeps his word?"

"Well, now that you mention it, he did once sell me down the river in order to make his own life a bit easier. When I was young, abandoned, and utterly helpless. Against the wishes of the king. But other than that, yeah, he's a great guy."

Elissa groaned. "Isn't there anyone a little more trustworthy we could put on the throne?"

Alistair refused to meet her eyes. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," he said stiffly. "Now come on, we've got to go get that traitor off my br-, er, my bright, shiny king's throne."

"Damn right you do," said Flemeth with a sinister smirk. "And you can take my daughter with you."

"Aw, Mom," whined Morrigan, "do I have to go right now? _Sabrina the Teenaged Witch_ is on in five minutes."

"I don't care, I want my hellspawn kid."

"Hey, don't you mean _my_ hellspawn kid?"

"Whatever you say, sweetie."

Alistair glared. "And why would we want a cunning, ruthless sorceress, taught by the most powerful mage in Thedas, on our side?"

"Uh, you kids weren't planning on letting this guy lead, were you?"

"Hell, no!" said Alistair and his comrades in unison.

"Phew, good. Now beat it, I've got places to go and people to terrorize."

Back in Denerim, Teyrn Loghain was addressing the Landsmeet. "And I expect you to provide me with troops, supplies, and fifty thousand bumper stickers that say NOrlesians."

Teagan Guerrin rolled his eyes. "You know, we wouldn't need to give you anything if you hadn't left the whole damn army to die pointlessly."

"Bite me!" growled Loghain.

"The Bannorn will not bow to you simply because you demand it!" Bann Tegan thundered boldly, his eyes glinting with barely-concealed fury. Several women standing nearby swooned, but he paid them no mind.

"Bah, who needs you?" Loghain sneered, stomping out of the room. "L'etat, c'est moi!"

"Wow," whispered Bann Alfstanna, "that sounded eerily Orlesian."

"RAUGH!"

Teagan gazed up at Queen Anora suspiciously. "He's off his medication again, isn't he?"

"Yeah, but what can ya do?"

"Um, Anora? You're the freaking queen! You can do anything you want!"

Anora considered this. "True. I guess I could have him committed or something, but that'll have to wait for another day. I have an appointment with my hairdresser in fifteen minutes. It's not easy staying this fabulous, you know."

Bann Teagan sighed wearily. "I miss Meghren."

Meanwhile, back on the road to Lothering, a little genlock came bounding enthusiastically up to the Wardens. "Rah!" he gurgled cheerfully.

"It's him!" Delighted, Neria threw her arms around the stumpy darkspawn. "My friend from Ostagar!" She patted his little bald head. "I missed you, too, boy! Want another cookie?"

The dimunitive darkspawn rolled happily on his back.

"Not this again, Surana!" Elissa groaned.

Ignoring her, Neria rubbed the genlock's tummy. "Aw, he's so cute and snuggly. I know, I'll call him Snugglebug!"

"Neria, we're not keeping the genlock."

The elven mage frowned. "Hey, if you get to have a faithful pet, then why shouldn't I?"

"Fine, whatever, let's just get to Lothering before all the good quests are gone."

Duran fell in step beside Neria and Snugglebug. "This is shaping up to be one seriously motley band of adventurers."

"Yeah," whispered Lyna, "and I've got a feeling that this is just the beginning."


	7. Climb Every Mountain

Chapter Six: Climb Every Mountain

As the party of adventurers entered Lothering, they were met by a band of highwaymen. The leader looked them over warily. "What have we here? A cunning femme fatale, a charming prince, a loyal hound, a proud and exotic warrior, a bold young rebel, a lovable rogue, a mysterious elven sorceress, and not one but two exiled nobles? Clearly this is a fight that the powers that be do not intend for us to win." He threw down his weapons and held out a pouch of coins. "We'll let you pass in safety and even give you all our money, just don't hurt us."

"Now why can't Howe and Loghain be this sensible?" Duran wondered, taking the proffered money and walking on.

"So, where do we go from here?" Alistair asked.

"Why are you asking us?" Darrian snapped. "You're our superior officer, you're clearly royalty—"

"DIFFERENT HAIRSTYLE!"

"Whatever. Plus you've had way more formal education and combat training than me or Brosca, and being a human male, unlike the rest of us, you'll face far less resistance and discrimination from most of the people we'll be dealing with."

Alistair burst into tears. "How can you ask me to take on that kind of responsibility at a time like this? I just lost my Daddykins!" the royal clone sobbed. "I gave him the best twenty-four weeks of my life!"

Morrigan whacked him upside the head. "Alistair, you're an idiot. And I suspect I'll be saying those words a lot."

The other Wardens were even less sympathetic. "Hey, you think you've got problems?" Elissa challenged. "My whole family was just massacred, adorable nephew and all!"

"Yeah," Lyna chimed in. "I lost my best buddy, was torn from the only home I've ever home, and now I'm stuck fighting for idiots like you."

"I was thrown in jail for the heinous crime of being more awesome than the Warrior Caste," said Faren.

"I was almost lynched by Klansmen…uh, I mean, executed by shemlen," seethed Darrian.

"My kid brother killed our big brother and pinned it on me, so I was thrown into the Deep Roads to die horribly. By my own father. On my birthday," Duran sniffled.

Everyone looked expectantly at Neria. "Oh, uh, let me think…" She fumbled for something equally tragic. "My friend was almost arrested, does that count?"

"Was it an unjust or unwarranted execution?"

"Well, no. He kind of had it coming," the mage admitted.

"What about the Templars back at the tower?" Elissa supplied. "Wasn't there a lot of oppressive surveillance?"

"Well, there _was_ this one Templar who used to follow me around and watch me like a hawk, but later it turned out that he was just in love with me."

Elissa sighed, turning back to Alistair. "Look, you bastard—"

"The fatherless kind," Alistair interjected.

"Whatever. The point is, apart from Surana, we're way worse off than you are. You've got no right to dump all your responsibilities on us like this."

"Cut me some slack, I'm just not as awesome as you are."

Elissa was livid. "Listen buddy, I'm trying really hard to fall in love with you. I mean, you're a bastard prince and I'm a disenfranchised noblewoman. We're obviously supposed to end up together. But you're not making it very easy for me!"

"Enough!" Darrian thundered. "The guy's obviously useless. Maybe Morrigan will have something more helpful to say."

"Damn straight. I say we should go after Loghain first."

The city elf pondered this. "Huh. That's actually a really good idea. If we can take him down before he starts siccing his army on half the nobles in Ferelden, it'll save many lives, preserve military resources for the Blight, and enable us to fight the darkspawn without being constantly harassed by assassins."

"No, we won't be doing that," said Alistair.

"Hey, man, you had your chance to make a decision and you blew it. Besides, you hate Loghain more than anybody!"

"Yeah, but we're no match for him right now. Let's wait till we've gained a few levels and looted every mildly useful piece of gear in Ferelden."

"I like the way you think, brother!" Faren said, piling metal shards into his wheelbarrow.

"I need a drink," Elissa muttered, storming off toward the nearest bar.

A ragged beggar family grasped at Darrian's armor as he passed. "Spare a coin, good ser?"

"How dare you hit up someone as disenfranchised as me for money?" the city elf roared indignantly. He drew a dagger. "Kill all humans!"

"Ah!" The father of the family moved to shield his wife and child. "Please, ser, we're not humans, we're elves, see?" He moved a strand of hair aside to reveal a pointed ear.

"Oh, well good for you, then, here's fifty silvers." Darrian put away his blade, looking a little disappointed. "Sorry for the misunderstanding, but you've gotta admit, despite all the hoopla about elves being alien and exotic, we look exactly like humans when you cover up our ears."

"Yeah, I've been thinking about just getting some minor plastic surgery on these things," said the beggar, tugging an earlobe. "I could just tell everyone I was a short, wimpy human and not have to live like a slave anymore. Unfortunately, my insurance doesn't cover cosmetic procedures."

"Tough break, man. Maybe you could try moving to another country. I hear they have universal health care among the Orlesians."

Hundreds of miles away in the Royal Place, Teyrn Loghain sat up in bed and snarled helplessly. "RAUGH!"

Back in Lothering, the only bridge out of town was being paced by a pathetic little orphan boy. "Mother, help!" he wailed pitifully. "I'm cold and hungry and I may or may not be planning to throw myself off this bridge!"

"Creators, we get it," Lyna said tiredly. "It sucks to be a refugee, there's no need to rub our faces in it."

Five seconds later, a Chasind man ran past her screaming, "The darkspawn are coming! We're all doomed! Your quest is VAIN!"

"Come to think of it, I could use a drink myself," Lyna muttered, going to join Elissa.

Standing in front of the only bar in town, the motley band was greeted by a helpful civilian. "Hi, I just thought you'd like to know, this bar is packed with Loghain's soldiers and they'll probably kill you if you try to go in."

Lyna and Elissa weighed their options. "Well, if we don't get good and drunk right away, we're just end up murdering half the morons in this town."

"Either way, someone's gonna die."

The stranger laughed. "Fair enough. My name's Hawke. My family and I live here in Lothering, since there's no finer home for a notorious clan of apostates than right next door to a Chantry full of Templars."

"Well, said Neria," I'm afraid you'll have to find somewhere new to tempt fate. The darkspawn are on their way here."

Hawke brightened. "Really? That's perfect! All I've got to do is put off evacuating my family until the village is already overrun, then arrange an 'accidental' death at the hands of the darkspawn for my stupid, whiny little brother." Hawke cackled evilly. "It probably won't even be that hard. He loves to play hero. I'll just let him tackle an ogre or something, then conveniently forget to back him up."

"Wow, even _I_ think that's cold," Darrian exclaimed.

"If you'd ever met Carver, you'd understand," Hawke defended.

"Whatever, thanks for the advice," said Morrigan. "Now let me give you some of my own. If you ever run into a dangerous but hilarious old witch who tried to extort some seemingly harmless favor from you, just cover your ears and run like hell."

"Pfft, you're not the boss of me," Hawke scoffed, running home to check his brother's will.

"I have a funny feeling I should have pumped that jerk full of spider venom while I had the chance," Morrigan groused.

Three humans, three elves, and two dwarves walked into a bar, but instead of doing something funny, they were apprehended by a bunch of soldiers. "There you are!" the commander shouted. "Wardens! We've been looking for you?"

"In a bar?" Faren snickered. "That's awfully convenient."

The officer scowled. "I've had a few, but I'm cool to fight." He drew his sword menacingly. "You Wardens planned our defeat at Ostagar! You'll pay for that!"

Alistair scratched his head. "Why would we do that? What possible reason could the Wardens have had for wanting themselves and their greatest ally brutally slaughtered for no strategic benefit?"

"Well, I, uh…"

"_That_ was the best lie he could come up with?" Alistair exploded. "Ferelden's most cunning general? I'm appalled, you hear? Absolutely disgusted! And you morons actually believe this gossip-rag conspiracy theory?" He turned to his compatriots sadly. "You guys were right, this country isn't worth saving. Screw our David-and-Goliath campaign of intrigue and heroism! Let's go to Kirkwall with everyone else and let these jerks die with their crazy dictator."

"Hey, our dictator's not crazy, he's just eccentric!" the officer thundered, charging Alistair and slicing the bastard prince's head off.

A beautiful young chantry sister came skipping merrily over to them, heedless of the blood spattered all over her vestments. "Aw, come on guys, just because you're Loghain's soldiers, it doesn't mean you have to fight his enemies, does it?"

The officer was utterly perplexed. "Actually, that's exactly what it means. Now beat it, or I'll gut you."

Duran rolled his eyes. "Threatening pacifist nuns? Ooh, yeah, you guys are _totally_ the real heroes here."

Alistair chose this moment to stand up, place his head back on his shoulders, and dust himself off. "Ouch."

Loghain's men recoiled in abject horror. "Maker's Breath, how did you do that?"

"Plot armor's powerful stuff," Duran warned. "You might want to remind your 'eccentric' friend Loghain of that. Now scram."

The soldiers ran off screaming. The sister handed Alistair a Band-Aid. "Well, that was unpleasant. So, do you guys have any room in your group for a happy-go-lucky singing nun?"

"That depends," Lyna replied warily. "Are you going to make us sing about lonely goatherds and wear clothes made out of old drapes?"

"No, I'm not that kind of singing nun."

"Fine by me, then, but why do you want to join us, anyway?"

"The Maker told me to in a vision."

The Wardens stared incredulously. Dog cocked his head quizzically.

"All right, " she relented, "it might have been a drug-induced vision, but that still counts! Besides, I'm running from a tragic and dangerous past. I could really use a big strong Warden to protect me and heal my wounded heart." She laid her head coyly on Darrian's shoulder. "Mmm, you elves are so wonderfully exotic, with your pointy ears, and…and your pointy ears."

Darrian brandished a dagger. "Take it off or I'll break it off, shem."

Leliana jumped back as if she'd been burned. "Okay, then what about this one?" She moved on to Neria. "Ah, a mage, so powerful and mysterious!" She tried to slip an arm around Neria's shoulders, but Snugglebug, who was cuddled up to his mistress, snapped at her menacingly.

Faren jumped between the girl and the genlock, mace at the ready. "Never fear, beautiful! I'll be your big, strong Warden."

The sister skeptically gave the short, lumpy and hairy dwarf a once-over. "Are you serious? You're a godless subterranean hobo. I'm a sophisticated and devout French—uh, _Orlesian_ woman. What could I possibly have in common with you?"

"Well," said Faren, checking their stats, "it looks like we both enjoy throwing dirt in our opponents' eyes and then kicking them in the junk. That's gotta count for something, right?"

"I guess it'll have to do." The sister picked up her diminutive new boyfriend and sat him on a table so she could kiss him.

"True love at last!" Faren smirked. "Shows what you know, Mom!" He grabbed the Orlesian by the arm. "Come on, baby, let's ride off into the sunset on my noble steed!"

"Faren, get off my poor dog's back this instant!" Elissa commanded.

"Spoilsport," the dwarf pouted.

"Well, I guess introductions are in order. My name is Leliana."

"Leliana what?"

"Just Leliana. You know, like Cher."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Elissa Cousland, and this is my loyal fighting dog—"

"Let me guess. Dogmeat?"

"No, just Dog."

"Oh well, close enough."

The Wardens and their new girlfriends headed for the Imperial Highway, but on the outskirts of town, the found a large man huddled in a cage and muttering to himself.

Duran approached him curiously. "Hey, who are you?"

"I am sten of the Berasaad, the vanguard of the Qunari people."

"But what's your name?"

The prisoner blushed. "It's Norbert, but I don't like to spread that around. Just call me Sten."

"Wait a minute," said the dwarven prince confusedly. "A qunari? I've heard of your kind. Aren't they supposed to have huge horns, grey skin, and red tattoos all over their body? And, you know, be giants? You're maybe three inches taller than Alistair."

The prisoner lowered his voice nervously. "Look, I'll level with you. I'm actually a freakishly tall elf; I just joined the qunari to get away from all the taunting."

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with us," Darrian reassured him. "So what are you doing in that cage?"

"Well, the Templars tried to put me in a cell, but I was too strong for them. So they put out a pile of cookies, and when I came to eat them, they dropped this cage on top of me."

"I got the idea from playing Mouse Trap," a nearby Templar explained proudly.

"Wow, that's rough," said Duran sympathetically. "What did you do to deserve that?"

The big warrior shrugged. "I killed a bunch of innocent women and children who took me into their home and probably saved my life."

Duran was aghast. "Why in Thedas would you do that?"

"Well, I asked them if they knew where my missing sword was, and they weren't very helpful."

"Oh, well in that case, I suppose they had it coming," said Elissa cheerfully. "Why don't I go and talk to the Revered Mother about getting you off scot-free, and then we'll see about finding your lost sword. I know you killed the last people who failed to help you with that, but I'm sure you'd never do that to me if I should happen to be unsuccessful, right?"

"Sure, kadan, whatever you say."

"Have you lost your mind, Cousland?" Duran hissed. "That man slaughtered a helpless family in cold blood for no apparent reason! It's exactly what Arl Howe did to your family, and you want _his_ head on a pike! Do you only care about exacting justice for violent crimes when they happen to you?"

"Gee, when you put it that way, it makes me sound like a total creep. But yeah, pretty much."

The dwarven prince groaned. "I'll never understand human society."

"You too, Aeducan?" Morrigan said, looking at him with new interest. "In that case, maybe I _could_ see myself going for a short guy."

At the chantry, the Revered Mother greeted them with an outstretched donation cup. "May the Maker bless you, children. Pending a donation of thirty silvers, of course."

Faren reached into his wheelbarrow and came up with a pouch of silver coins and a large stack of Pick 5 cards. "Here ya go. I swiped 'em off one of your Templars' corpses."

"My hero," Leliana sighed adoringly.

"So," the Revered Mother continued, "do you want one of my useless non-magical blessings? Or is there something else I can do for you?"

"We're Grey Wardens and we need your help."

"Sorry, but I don't really have a lot of resources to spare right now. All I can offer you is some advice." The elderly nun burst into a shrill song. "_Climb every mountain! Ford every stream! Follow every rainbow! Till you find your dream!"_

"Gah." Faren covered his ears, wincing. "I was actually thinking more along the lines of giving us the key to the qunari prisoner's cage."

"Oh? And what do you think, Leliana? You've known these people a whole five minutes longer than I have. Can they be trusted?"

"How the hell should I know? I think the whole Marjolaine fiasco has clearly established that I am a terrible judge of character."

"True. Well, take the key anyway. That alleged qunari's constant muttering has been driving everyone around here nuts."

"Thanks."

"Crazy humans," grumbled Duran.

Elissa sauntered fearlessly into the semi-sane warrior's cage and handed him a sword. "Here you go, just try not to butcher any more kids with it."

"I'll do my best, though if they come between me and my daily Oreo fix, I won't be held responsible for my actions."

Alistair grinned, munching on yet another wheel of cheese. "I like him already!"


	8. I Don't Want to Set the World On Fire

Chapter Seven: I Don't Want to Set the World On Fire

"Help us!" screamed a dwarven merchant surrounded by darkspawn on the Imperial Highway. "I'm beginning to think that bringing my wares into a warzone was a bad idea!"

"Don't worry, we'll save you!" Leliana jabbed Faren. "Honey, go save them.

"Yes, dear." Faren drew his weapons and trudged reluctantly into the fray.

"Poor guy." Duran drew his own sword. "I'd better go give him a hand."

"Altruism? Not while I'm around, buster!" Morrigan nagged, tugging her boyfriend by the ear.

Alistair laughed. "Man, you guys are so totally whipped.

Elissa smacked her prince upside the head. "Wipe that stupid grin off your face, Clone Boy!"

"Ow!" Alistair sniffled, wounded. "You know what? Forget about uniting Ferelden under the Cousland and Theirin bloodlines. If you're going to treat me like that, I'm romancing Mahariel!" He handed Lyna a flower. "You win this rose ceremony, baby!"

Lyna took the proffered rose, surprised. "You really think you could love an elf?"

"Of course. I'm a Theirin, aren't I?"

Meanwhile, poor lonely Faren was losing ground against the brood of darkspawn. A hurlock alpha was preparing to run him through, when suddenly the son of the besieged dwarven merchant tossed a magical rune at the creatures, causing a massive explosion. "Boom!" the boy giggled.

"Woah!" Darrian was impressed. "This kid's a weapon of mass destruction. He should be outlawed by the Geneva Convention!"

The boy's father smiled proudly. "Yeah, Sandal here is a five-time Special Olympics gold medalist in the Monster-Smashing and Butt-Kicking events. I'd show you the medals, but he sort of blew them all up. Along with our house. And most of the Market District."

"Hm, fascinating." Darrian backed away nervously. "But my friends and I really must be going. To the nearest bomb shelter. For, uh, a duck and cover drill."

"Oh. Can we come with you?"

"No!" screamed Lyna. "I mean, uh, no, sorry but you can't, or there won't be enough Radaway to go around." The Wardens turned and ran for their lives.

The team of nobles, fugitives, and noble fugitives broke camp just outside Lothering. The Wardens all pitched tents, but for some reason, chose to sleep in front of them rather than inside them. As they slept, the Archdemon appeared in their dreams. "RAAAAAH! I told you little blood-swilling punks to leave me alone! Stop with the psychic eavesdropping, or I'll start counting Pazaak cards in my head!"

The Wardens woke up trembling, ashen-faced and in a cold sweat. "Bad dreams?" Alistair inquired.

"Your powers of perception astound me," sneered Darrian.

"Did you see the Archdemon?"

"The Archdemon?" Duran repeated. "That big scary dragon we've been seeing is the Archdemon? I was expecting horns and a tail, or maybe a pitchfork."

"Wait a minute." Neria frowned. "If Grey Wardens can see that the Archdemon is real, why didn't Duncan just say so and end all the skepticism about this being a real Blight?"

Alistair bristled. "I'll have you know he tried. He said he could sense the Archdemon, but everyone assumed he was guessing."

"Well, of course they did." Neria blinked. "You've got to admit, "I can sense it" is pretty vague. Why didn't explain himself? You know, maybe say 'And I don't mean that in a mystical, abstract sense. I mean that I saw and heard him using the specialized abilities that come with being a Grey Warden, and he's definitely not the kind of guy we want moving into our neighborhood.'"

"Cut him a break. It was the morning after one of Gregor's keggers, and none of us were really thinking that clearly."

"Even so, he should have made time to explain more clearly about such an important matter, instead of playing the mysterious sage," the elven mage persisted. "Honestly, was he _trying_ to make himself look crazy? It's no wonder Loghain got suspicious and ran off like a scared bunny! If I were less awesome, I might have done the same thing."

"How dare you make such a valid point?!" the Templar roared, drawing his blade menacingly.

Upon seeing his mistress threatened, Snugglebug the Genlock sprang into action, jumping on Alistair and clamping its long, cruel fangs around his head.

"Ah! Call him off, Neria!" Alistair screamed, his face covered in darkspawn slobber.

Lyna grabbed a crowbar and pried the little darkspawn off. "Lighten up, Alistair. Surana's got a point about Duncan."

"How can you say that, Lyna?" Alistair sobbed. "How can you speak ill of the man who risked and shortened your life, sterilized you against your will, and cursed you with a lifetime of bone-chilling nightmares?"

"He did _what?_ That bearded bastard!"

"Ingrate!" Alistair pouted like a pro. "You're an evil, selfish witch, and I'll never, ever forgive you!"

"I bought you a dolly."

"You're forgiven." Alistair snatched up the proffered Malibu Garahel excitedly.

Duran yawned, picking up his blanket and heading for the woods. "I can't sleep with all this drama."

As he wandered away from the camp, he ran into Morrigan. "Oh, good, you're awake," said the witch impassively. "I'm bored. Wanna come to my tent and make the bereskarn with two backs?"

The dwarf stared. "What, seriously?"

"Sure, why not? I do this sort of thing all the time."

"With who? Aren't you supposed to be a hermit?"

"Yeah, but there's always . So, how 'bout it?"

When they emerged from Morrigan's tent later, Duran was smiling contentedly. "Oh, Morrigan, darling, you're nothing like the women back in Orzammar. It's so wonderful to be with someone who doesn't view me as a walking sperm bank."

"Um, right, that's me," the witch mumbled guiltily.

Suddenly, Bodhan Feddic jumped out of the bushes, followed by his son Sandal, who was toting a Radio Flyer full of lyrium and frag grenades. "Hey there, Warden, fancy meeting you here."

"Ah!" Duran yelped, hurriedly pulling his pants back on. "Where the hell did you come from?"

"Well, I originally came from Orzammar, where I was part of the Merchant Caste until I got arrested for robbing an important corpse. Then I came to the surface with my atomic tot and found some new corpses to rob, because apparently I still haven't learned my lesson about that. Then I married a woman who may or may not be imaginary, and then—"

Duran clamped a hand over the still-babbling merchant's mouth. "Woah, dude, I didn't ask for a freaking autobiography. I just meant, what are you doing here? Are you stalking us? Because I think that job is already taken." He indicated several shriek assassins and a tattooed elf lurking ominously in the bush next door to Bodhan and Sandal.

"No, nothing like that. I was simply hoping you'd all get killed on the road so I could rob your corpses. But since it looks like that's not going to happen for a while, do you mind if I spend the next year or so following you to the most distant and treacherous corners of Ferelden?"

Morrigan eyed him suspiciously. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"I think it's pretty obvious that I don't. But if you don't want me and my little bundle of mass destruction around, we can always find someone else to stalk." The merchant thought a moment. "I guess there's always that nice fratricidal chap who was hanging around back in Lothering."

"That's not necessary," said Duran. "You can stay, so long as you promise not to rob my corpse until you're sure it's dead."

"Excellent!" Beaming, Bodhan held out a bottle. "Here, as a token of my appreciation, please accept this rare Antivan brandy."

Duran sniffed the bottle cautiously, detecting a familiar aroma that filled him with nostalgia. "This isn't brandy, it's Fleshrot."

"Oh, uh, you noticed, huh?" Bodhan eyed the Warden's gear longingly.

Duran frowned suspiciously. "You don't happen to have another son, do you? A guy named Brosca?"

"That depends. You with the Department of Child Support Enforcement?"

Meanwhile, on the other side of camp, Darrian was rolling out of bed and spotted a strange silhouette approaching. He reached for his daggers. "A human! Kill it!"

The terrified stranger raised his hands in surrender. "Please, ser, don't hurt me! My name's Levi Dryden. I don't mean to be any trouble, but I've been standing around your camp for hours, waiting for one of you to get around to talking to me. Since nobody seems interested, I figured I'd better take the initiative."

Darrian waved him off. "If you're here to tell us about Jesus, we've already got Leliana for that. If you're here to sell something, you're wasting your time, because Alistair just blew the last of our gold on a new fondue set."

"Actually, I'm here to give you a quest."

The city elf groaned. "You too? We've already got, like, twenty of those we have no idea how we're going to finish."

"Don't worry, this one is really straightforward. I just need you to go to Soldiers' Peak and—"

"Soldiers' Peak!" Darrian exploded. "That's clear up on the Coastlands, almost to the Free Marches! If we had time to go there, we'd have time to cross the border and get some Wardens _who actually know what they're doing_ to fix this stupid Blight!"

Levi looked startled. He clearly hadn't been expecting a refusal. "But—but Duncan promised me…"

Darrian's eyes hardened. "Look, shem, we only knew Warden Kenobi for a few hours, but in those few hours, he managed to permanently rape our minds, jeapordize our lives, and curse us with a horrific, inescapable, premature death. Invoking his name isn't going to get you very far with any of us, except maybe that nut Alistair."

"But what about the achievement troph—"

"I said BACK OFF!" roared the elf. Dejected, Levi went back to standing around aimlessly on the outskirts of camp.

Alistair plopped down on the grass next to Darrian. The senior Warden's face was bright red, and he was as tense as a bowstring.

"What's your problem?" the elf snapped. "You might as well tell me. Everyone always does."

Alistair somehow managed to turn even redder. "Oh, nothing major, it's just…well, have you noticed that this camp of ours doesn't seem to have a latrine?"

The city elf surveyed the campsite with mild surprise. "Huh, you're right. Well, maybe we'll get lucky and Bodhan will loot us a Porta-Potty one of these days. In the meantime, we'd better figure out where to head first.

"Well," Alistair ventured meekly. "After all those well-substantiated rumors we heard in Lothering, about our greatest political ally being on the brink of death, I was thinking maybe we should go to him first. So he doesn't, you know, drop dead without calling the Landsmeet, rendering all our other efforts a complete waste of time."

Faren, who had just finished revving up his wheelbarrow for the day, came over to join them. "Good point, brother, but on the other hand, the Circle Tower will have lots of cool magic stuff to steal."

"I gotta go with Brosca on this," Darrian agreed.

"What?" Alistair stared at his comrades uncomprehendingly. "But we're in danger of losing the one man in Ferelden with the will and the power to stop this senseless war! Look, if you won't go to Redcliffe out of practicality, can you do it as a favor to me? You're risking the life of the man who raised me, after all." He waved his girlfriend over. "Lyna, honey, please talk some sense into them. For me?"

Lyna smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Alistair, but I want to go to the Tower. I think it's already been established that I'm hot for Templars."

"You vile, traitorous hag!" screamed the royal clone.

Lyna handed her boyfriend a brightly wrapped package. "Here's a hand puppet to go with your dolly."

Alistair's anger immediately faded. "Have I ever told you that you remind me of a rose, beautiful?"

"All right, then it's settled, off to the tower we go," Neria chimed in. "I can't wait to introduce Snugglebug to all my friends, and catch up with First Enchanter Dumble—er, Irving."

Alistair sighed. "I really need to start being more assertive."

"Go play with your dollies, Prince Charming."

"Yes'm."


	9. Tower of Terror

Chapter Eight: Tower of Terror

After a long and arduous journey, the Motley Band of Adventurers™ came upon a little village with a sign out front.

"_Welcome to Yet Another Dock on Lake Calenhad, population 3,_" Elissa read. "Why so few?"

"I can answer that," a helpful villager piped up. "You see, Teyrn Loghain and his men came marching through here a few days ago, right at dinnertime, and found most of the village at the inn eating burgers and Orlesian fries. He demanded that they change the name to 'Freedom Fries', and when they refused, he decided to execute them all."

"How'd you manage to escape, Kester?" Neria wanted to know.

"They left me alone. I'd ordered onion rings, the villager replied cheerfully. "But enough about me. You're looking well, Neria." He looked her over curiously. "Say, where'd you get that fancy robe from? You weren't wearing it the last time I saw you."

"Oh, you mean the Vestments of the Seer?" She shrugged sheepishly. "Honestly, I'm not exactly sure where they came from. I woke up one day, and they were just floating around my pack like they'd always been there."

"You too?" Duran exclaimed. "Thank the stone, I thought I was going crazy!" He pulled an ornate dragonbone mace and edgy silverite dagger out of his own pack. "I got these the exact same way!"

One by one, the Wardens began pulling ancient elven bows, royal shields, lost dwarven helms, and other priceless relics out of their packs. "All right, what's going on, here?" Lyna demanded. "These things didn't just pop out of thin air."

"So what are you suggesting?" Faren demanded, his voice suddenly louder and higher. "Are you insinuating that some well-meaning kleptomaniac swiped a bunch of priceless magical artifacts, then panicked and planted them on you guys in order to avoid getting caught?" He choked out something between a laugh and an asthma attack. "Because that's crazy talk!"

"Whatever," sighed Neria. "Kester, can you take us to the tower, please?

"Sorry, but no. A Templar confiscated my boat. He claimed that there was trouble at the Tower and he was trying to keep visitors away, but I think he was really just on a power trip."

"Great. What are we supposed to do now?"

"You could try bribing him," Kester suggested.

"There's an idea." Neria glanced back at Alistair, who was giggling boyishly over the new G.W. Joe Lyna had given him. "Templars' loyalties seem to come pretty cheap these days."

They marched over to the dock, where a young knight barred the way imperiously. "Sorry, but I can't take you to the Tower. It's off limits until we finish killing all the mag—uh, spraying for termites."

Darrian rolled his eyes. "Termites? The Tower's not even made of wood, you stupid shem."

"Okay, then I just don't feel like it," the Templar sneered.

"Screw this!" growled the city elf. "The tower's not far, and we're all strong and healthy. Let's just swim for it."

"You can't," the Templar retorted smugly. "Lake Calenhad's full of flesh-eating piranhas. Why do you think people around here are always throwing corpses in it?"

"Because they're a bunch of Viking wannabes?"

"Nope. Piranhas."

"Fine, then!" Darrian snapped. "We'll just kick you over the side of that dock you're so precariously perched on and take your stupid boat!"

"Now, now, I'm sure there's no need for that," Neria intervened gently. "As an honorably discharged Circle mage, who has known all the Templars in the Tower for years, I bet I can reason with him."

"You'd think so, but no," the Templar replied serenely. "Now, if you wanted to hand over one of those cookies, on the other hand…" He eyed the fudge-covered Oreos in Sten's hand greedily.

"Oh, fine," grumbled the enormous warrior, grudgingly forking over the cookies. "Lousy shem—I mean, filthy _basra_!" he corrected hastily, cheeks flaming.

The Templar waved them all into the boat. "All right, hop in. Just tell the giant elf to watch his language."

Somehow the twelve of them, including the armored giant, managed to fit into the little rowboat without any trouble. Morrigan, however, hung back with a frown.

Duran looked up at her, concerned. "What's wrong, my love?"

Morrigan glared at him meaningfully, and his beard suddenly burst into flame. "Ow! Sorry, I meant, what's wrong, my emotionally-crippled tent-buddy?"

"This is Circle Tower, Duran."

"What's your point?"

She whacked him over the head with her staff. "I've spent my entire life trying to stay _out_ of this hellhole, you moron!"

"I know how you must feel, Morrigan, but we might need your magic in there."

"Then you could at least give me some proper clothes so my status as an apostate mage is less obvious! Between the staff, the robes, and the magical amulet, you may as well wrap me in bacon, put me on a platter, and throw me into a freaking lions' den!"

"Sorry, Morrigan," Duran apologized. "I'd really like to help, but nobody in this country seems to sell any clothing without mage-specific enchantments. Trust me, I've looked. In case you haven't noticed, I've been wearing the same prison rags since Orzammar, and they're really starting to get funky."

"At least you've got _some_ proper clothes," Lyna sulked bitterly. "All I was able to bring from home was this stupid leather bikini. Do you have any idea how cold this thing gets?"

"You poor dear!" said Leliana sympathetically. "Here, you can have this drakeskin suit that magically Apparated into my backpack." She held out a slightly less skimpy leather cuirass.

"Aw, isn't that nice of—whoops!" Alistair surreptitiously snatched the armor and tossed it into the lake. "Oh, darn!" he cried insincerely. "Clumsy me. I seem to have knocked your new armor overboard." He eyed his girlfriend's neckline appreciatively. "Ah, well, I guess you'll just have to stick with the bikini for now. Tee hee."

Lyna watched in dismay as a school of piranhas descended on the armor. "Alistair!"

"Sorry, honey." Alistair meekly offered her his G.W. Joe doll. "Here you go, are we cool now?"

"That doesn't work on me!"

"Rats!"

The little boat pulled into Kinloch Hold, where an elderly man was hanging out of a fourth floor window. "Well, if it isn't my prize pupil, Neria Surana!" He waved brightly. "Good to see you again. Nice robe, by the way."

"Don't go there, First Enchanter."

"Suit yourself. I'd love to come down and give you a hug and a lemon drop, but I'm sort of stuck up here."

The sorceress was alarmed. "What? What's wrong?"

"Well, you remember that creepy senior enchanter, Uldred?"

"The one who was always talking to snakes and researching Horcruxes?"

"Yeah. The Libertarians liked his ideas about small government and decreased taxation, so they put him forward as a new candidate for First Enchanter. But when the Templars all laughed in his face and said voting for a third party candidate was pointless, he went a little nuts and started killing people. He's  
got us all locked up here in the Chamber of Secrets, and he's forcing us to watch one campaign commercial after another.

"Oh." Elissa turned and headed back to the ferry boat. "Then I guess this was a wasted trip. Thanks for your time, First Enchanter." Alistair, Sten, and the rest followed her to the dock.

Neria blinked. "What? Wait up, where are you going?"

"You heard the man," Elissa replied. "The Circle is in a severely weakened state. Even if we could convince them to ally with us in their present condition, I doubt they'd be any help. No sense wasting any more time on this treaty. Let's just cut our losses and try—"

"Arl Eamon," Alistair supplied insistently. "Or else."

"Fine, whatever."

Neria was horrified. "I can't just leave! The Tower was my home for years! These are the people who tore me from my parents, locked me up like a criminal, and spent my entire childhood brainwashing me with threats of demonic possession. I owe them so much!"

Her comrades stared. "Uh, Neria?" Faren asked gently. "Have you ever heard of a condition called Stockholm Syndrome?"

The mage glowered viciously. "Look, Professor Irving taught me not to use my magic for evil, but he never said anything about not using genlocks." She gave Snugglebug's glow-in-the-dark leash a tug. "Now boy, I want you to disembowel the first person who tries to set foot in that boat."

A few seconds later, the Templar ferryman returned from his bathroom break. "All right, time for me to get back to the village, so all ashore who's going ash—AAAAAAAH!"

When it was over, the Wardens eyed his mangled remains queasily. "Er, on second thought, maybe it _is_ our duty as Wardens to resolve the situation, in some convoluted way." They proceeded through the front door, and found the entryway full of frightened Templars. One of them was standing in front of the inner door with how sword held high.

Annoyed, Knight-Commander Greagoir tossed an empty grenade flask at his head. "Fred, that door's been sealed without incident for days. You can put down the freaking sword now!"

"Spoilsport," Fred sulked. "I was just trying to look knightly."

"Save it for picture day, kid. We've got company." His eyes flickered with recognition. "Neria Surana? You picked a convenient day for a visit. The Tower—"

"We know, Uldred and his third-party zealots have led a rebellion, locked everyone into the Chamber of Secrets, and are forcing them to vote Libertarian."

"Actually, I was just going to say that it wasn't safe here. How did you find all that out?"

"I talked to Irving through a window. You mean you never thought to give it a try in all this time?" Neria snickered. "What kind of strategist are you?"

"Cut me a break. Our order doesn't exactly encourage thinking outside the box."

Neria grimaced. "Do I even want to know what your plan of attack is?"

Greagoir shrugged. "We're going to raze the Tower, of course. We're just waiting for the delivery of some nukes we ordered from some kid named Feddic."

"You're going to blow up every mage in Ferelden in the middle of a Blight?" the sorceress shrieked. "Along with a bunch of wounded men and innocent children? _That's _your solution?"

"Do you have a better one?" the Knight-Commander sniffed indignantly.

"Uh, here's a novel thought. Maybe you could actually try _fighting_ the evil mages? You know, the _one thing_ you stupid Templars are supposed to be good for?"

"Are you crazy?" Greagoir cried. "Some of those creatures breathe fire! They might singe our fancy skirts! And that's a risk I'm not willing to take this close to picture day."

"I can't believe this," said Morrigan. "It's starting to look like Alistair is the most useful and intelligent person the Templar order has ever produced. Honestly, how sad is that?"

"Er, thanks?" said Alistair uncertainly.

Duran sighed. "We're going to have to single-handedly butcher another army of monsters, aren't we?"

"Bingo," Greagor replied, "but it won't be for nothing. Once you've killed off all the mages, my Templars and I will help you out with the darkspawn."

"Thanks anyway, Commander, but we've already seen how much 'help' you are," grumbled Neria. "Hey, Fred! Quit preening for a second and open the door for us."

Fred, who had been checking his reflection in the polished blade of his sword, shrugged. "All right, it's your funeral, but I won't be able to open it back up for you until all the mages are dead."

"Yeah, yeah, just do it."

The adventurers walked bravely through, and the heavy wooden doors slammed shut ominously behind them. "All right then, everyone, let's get down to business. We—" Neria tried to lead her comrades down the hall, but found she couldn't move her legs. "What the—aw, nuts! My robe's caught in the door." She banged impatiently on the door. "Fred, open up for a minute, I'm stuck!"

"Neria, I already told you, I can't."

"But my robe's caught in the—"

"Sorry, but rules are rules. I can't open back up until you've killed all the demons."

"Fine!" Neria snatched Alistair's sword and banged it against the floor a couple of times, then shot a fireball at the wall. "Okay, they're dead. Open up."

"Even _I'm_ not that stupid," came the reply.

"Here, Neria, I'll help you." Lyna pulled out her miraculous knife and cut her comrade loose. When she was finished, there was a large slit up the side of Neria's skirt.

The mage surveyed the damage with dismay. "Aw, my spiffy new robe's been fanserviced!"

"I feel your pain, sister," Lyna soothed, "but it could be worse. We could be dressed like Morrigan."

The group pressed on through yet another set of ornate hardwood double-doors, and found a flame-wreathed rage demon advancing menacingly on a little old lady. Alarmed, Neria flung a bolt of lightning at the creature, and it vanished into thin air.

The elderly mage rounded on her furiously. "Hey, I called dibs on that one! How am I supposed to impress you now?"

"Nice to see you again, too, Wynne."

"No time to chat now, kid. The Libertarians have taken over the tower, and they're trying to repeal the Federal income tax."

"Gah!

"NO!"

"It's more horrible than anything we could have imagined!" screamed the Wardens.

"I agree." Wynne looked straight at the Wardens. "_Somebody_ should really get in there and save the day." She coughed pointedly.

"Then why have you been standing around here for Maker-knows how long?" snapped Neria. "You're one of the most experienced mages in Ferelden. Get in there and kick some butt, already!"

The elderly mage just laughed. "Me? Defeat a fantastical archvillain? No, no, I'm not nearly young enough, attractive enough, or angst-ridden enough. You kids, on the other hand…"

Neria's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine. We'll singlehandedly and unexpectedly save the day. As usual."

"Oh, no, I'm coming with you. You'll need someone with you who knows the Tower."

"But I've spent my entire life in the—"

"No more backtalk, missy, or you're grounded!" Wynne scolded.

"Pathetic Circle mages," Morrigan snorted. "I'm sure _I'd_ never be so weak as to have to ask someone else for help defending myself against a murderous blood mage."

Wynne frowned. "Wait a minute. You're a mage, but I don't recognize you from the Circle." She recoiled in horror. "Holy Maker! A mage who doesn't share my religion?! You must die! All your friends must die! Your traveling companion's dog must die!"

"Wynne," Neria interrupted mildly. "Don't you think you're overreacting just a tad?"

"NO!"

Neria sighed. "Morrigan, would you be an angel and go wait for us in the next room?"

"Sure."

The moment the door closed behind her, Wynne dropped her weapon and smiled cheerfully. "Shall we get started, my dears?"

"Man," Neria muttered under her breath, "this lady's got some serious mood swings going on."

They fought their way to the third floor of the tower, where Faren took a sudden interest in some large statues. Neria frowned. "Faren, if you're thinking of stealing those, we're not helping you carry them."

"No, that's not it. It says here that we can use them to summon a demon made of pure thought."

The elven sorceress was perplexed. "Why would we want to do that? Don't we have enough demons to fight right now?"

"Because it might have some cool stuff to steal." The casteless dwarf paused. "Although, if it's made of pure thought, I don't see how. Oh well!" He gave the final statue a pat on the head, and the floor rumbled ominously under their feet.

"Uh oh. I sense a disturbance in the Force," said Wynne.

They ran back down to the room where they'd met Wynne. A fiery abomination, wearing a nametag that read "Hello, My Name is Shah Wyrd," was pacing impatiently. "There you are!" it roared. "I was getting bored. I guess I could have simply eaten these frightened and vulnerable young apprentices, but that just wouldn't have been sporting."

"Don't worry!" cried one of the aforementioned apprentices. "We'll help you!" She and her classmates began blasting the battlefield with fireballs. The fire-breathing demon shrugged them off like a gentle breeze, but the Wardens fell on the ground, screaming and smoldering.

"Ah! Cut it out, we're dying, here!"

"Yay, I'm helping, I'm helping!" giggled an apprentice obliviously.

"Gah!" Elissa howled, dumping a health poultice on her char-broiled face. "What the hell is wrong with you guys? Wynne, order them to stop!"

In desperation, Neria fired a column of lightning at the drooling, giggling spellslingers, but it bounced off them harmlessly. "Maker save us!" she moaned. "Wait, Shah Wyrd! Can we make a deal?"

The demon, who was basking contentedly in the middle of the inferno with a tanning mirror tucked under his chin, looked up absently. "Hm?"

"Give us that silverite sword you never seem to use in combat and eat those indestructible idiots over there, and we'll go on our merry way and let you get back to sleep."

"Deal."

"Neria!" Wynne cried in horror. "You can't be serious. They're innocent children!"

"Who are killing us all in the most gruesome and painful manner imaginable!"

"But—"

Neria grinned evilly. "If you want to take their side, I'm sure our friend Shah could go for seconds." An apprentice screamed in the distance, and a spray of blood hit the wall behind them.

Wynne cringed. "I'll be good."

By the time they dragged themselves back up to the fourth floor stairs, the adventurers were sweating like apostates in a Chantry. "Isn't there…an elevator…we could use…in here somewhere" Duran gasped, laboriously dragging his small legs up the final stone step.

"Sure. It's right over there." Neria pointed at a large freight elevator a few feet from the stairwell.

"Why didn't you say something?!" the bedraggled prince screamed furiously.

"Because if we'd taken it, we'd have missed out on all the experience from fighting our way through the demons."

Nobody could argue with that.

_A/N: For the record, I love Wynne and Alistair, but they're just so fun to laugh at!_


End file.
